“Do you think we’ll be able to see?” I whispered to Jessica as we watched the nurses and other hospital staff busily preparing the operating room. Jessica and I were interns assigned to watch this surgery, having traveled with eighteen other students to Greece to observe medical procedures and shadow doctors. “I’m not sure,” Jessica responded. “But I think I can kind of see from here.” For many of us, this trip to Greece started as a chance to explore a beautiful country and dip our toes into the world of medicine. But in that operating room something shifted. Once the surgery began, we weren’t just visitors anymore. We were witnesses to the weight and wonder of what it truly means to care for another human being.
I was pleasantly surprised to see that the doctors let their personalities and beliefs flow through their work. Even as the head surgeon operated, he quietly sang a traditional folk song to himself, a common practice among many of the doctors we shadowed. Besides music, faith was another essential tenet of the Greek identity. Pictures of Jesus Christ lined the walls of the hospital. I was moved by how devoted and sincere these medical professionals were to display their faith in the places where it was needed most.
We watched as the surgeons crowded around the operating table, working to make a difficult incision through the rib cage of the patient. Both of us were barely over five feet tall, so seeing past the throng of medical staff was challenging.
Then an unexpected voice called to us, “Here, come this way.” Jessica and I turned and found a surprising sight: the anesthesiologist inviting us to come to his station at the head of the table. We were astonished as he asked our names and then proceeded to break down the surgery for us as it happened. Standing next to him, we had a perfect view. The doctor expertly narrated as the operating team extracted a portion of a saphenous vein that would later be grafted to save the patient’s life. The anesthesiologist’s part of the operation relied heavily on the measurements and readings from the machines around us, and he explained to us what each reading meant.
Suddenly he paused his narration, went to a side room, and returned with a short, wide stool. To my complete shock, he placed the stool at the base of the table, by the patient’s head, and told us to take a look. I stepped onto the stool and was filled with awe as I looked down directly at the patient’s heart. The cardiopulmonary bypass machine, developed by President Russell M. Nelson, stilled the heart so surgeons could sew a portion of the saphenous vein onto it, thereby saving the patient’s life via coronary artery bypass surgery. Moved by the kindness of the anesthesiologist and by the miracle of a broken heart being mended before me, I struggled to hold back my tears.
As the surgeons stitched up the patient at the end of the surgery, the anesthesiologist pulled Jessica and me aside. He looked at us with the type of sincerity and encouragement that every student hopes to find in a mentor. “I can see it in you both; you are going to help a lot of people,” he said softly. “Doctors make mistakes when they don’t take time to truly care for their patients. That is something that Hippocrates taught. I can tell you understand that and that you will be excellent doctors.”
Something stirred inside me as he spoke. This man took time to teach and inspire two interns during a surgery, breaking down a language barrier with unmistakable kindness and professional mentorship. Although I had not expected to be so profoundly changed by watching open-heart surgery and listening to the words of an anesthesiologist, the impact of this experience has lingered. It reminds me that the light of the Savior can shine from anyone in the most unexpected moments, silencing the distractions of a busy world and reconnecting us with our divine nature.
Our opportunities and gifts may vary widely, but it is our calling to use those gifts to heal broken hearts and inspire God’s children to do good. When we trust in Him—and the divine potential within ourselves—we become instruments of healing and hope.
Este Stringham participated in the College of Life Sciences’ exercise and medicine study abroad in Greece.